Hark, in front of Macy’s rings,
Santa-suited ding-a-ling.
Making clangor by a pot,
Begging for what change I’ve got.
Christmas spirit in his eyes,
Beer or vodka, I surmise.
All these Kringles sound the same:
“It’s for charity,” or so he claims.
Thanks to you, my head now rings.

Spinning hapless through the sky like head of Anne Boleyn,
A moon-sized skull whirls towards our planet, shorn off at the chin.
Relic from an Easter Island on a Jovian giant?
Or Titan warrior’s noggin, lopped in ancient fray defiant?
Maybe by the Power of Greyskull we can suss this out,
Before this stony harbinger strikes Earth and gives us rout.

Across the street from where I work is Edith Morley Park. One of the park’s main features is a little rock-garden fountain. To celebrate the anniversary of the park’s dedication (and just because), here is a completely made up account of the fountain’s origins…